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3  1822  00578  1141 


uentrai  university  uorary 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 

Please  Note:  This  item  is  subject  to  recall 
after  two  weeks. 


Date  Due 


C!^3  0rj  1990 

n- "       i  K'Qn 

\ 


THE   STROPHES 


DMAR  KHilYYAM 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    PERSIAN 


JOHN  LESLIE  GARNER 


WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION    AND    NOTES. 


MILWAUKEE. 
THE    CORBITT  A.    8KI0MORE    CC 


COPYRIGHT,     1883, 

By  JOHN  LESLIE  GARNER. 


^x\iv0bnctx0n* 


Quant  aux  JJtilitaires,  Utopistes,  Economistes,  Saint- 
Simonistes  et  autres  qui  lui  demanderont  a  quoi  cela 
rime, — il  repondra  :  le  premier  vers  rime  avec  le  second, 
quand  la  rime  n' est  pas  mauvaise,  et  ainsi  de  suite. 

Theophile  Oautier. 


INTRODUCTION. 

/^MAR  KHAYYAM  was  born  iu  the  first  half  of 
the  eleventh  centurj'  of  our  era  at  Naishapiir, 
a  small  town  in  the  Province  of  Khorasan,  a  place 
which  modern  travelers  describe  as  singularly  unin- 
teresting, but  which  at  that  time  was  of  uo  little 
importance.  The  details  which  we  possess  of  his 
life  are  exceedingly  meagre,  but  doubtless  true. 
His  boyhood  was  entirely  uneventful.  He  com- 
pleted his  studies  at  the  Madrassah  of  Naishdpdr, 
an  institution  celebrated  for  the  number  of  noted 
men  who  had  there  received  their  education,  in  the 
year  1042.  While  at  school  his  two  most  intimate 
friends  were  NiZclm-ul-Mulk  and  Hassan-Sabbdh, 
both  of  whom  afterwards  became  celebrated  in 
their  country's  history. 

One  day,  little  imagining  the  influence  it  was 
destined  to  have  on  their  careers,  they  jokingly 
entered  into  a  boyish  compact;  according  to  the 
terms  of  this  agreement  the  one  who  should  be 
most  highly  favored  by  fortune  was  to  interest  him- 
self in  the  advancement  of  his  comrades.    Their 


VI.  Introduction. 


biographers  relate  that  it  had  the  effect  of  stimu- 
lating their  zeal,  each  applying  himself  to  his 
studies  most  assiduously.  It  was  not  long  before 
the  treaty  was  put  to  the  test,  for  Nizd,m-ul-Mulk 
was  called  to  a  position  in  the  government,  and 
his  companions  immediately  demanded  the  fulfill- 
ment of  their  oath.  Hassan-Sabbdh,  ambitious, 
jealous  and  crafty,  was  given  a  place  at  Court, 
while  Omar,  who  seems  to  have  been  of  a  studious 
and  retiring  disposition,  was  in  accordance  with 
his  request,  made  chief  of  his  village. 

Living  quietly  at  Naish;lpur,  he  pursued  his 
favorite  studies  of  philosophy,  mathematics  and 
poetry,  and  became  a  philosopher,  a  skeptic  and 
a  fatalist 

Following  the  custom  of  Persian  poets,  he  adopted 
a  Takhallus  or  poetical  name,  choosing  that  of 
Khayydm,  an  appellation  suggested  by  the  trade  of 
his  father,  which  was  that  of  a  tent-maker.  His 
countrymen  say  that  his  extreme  modesty  prevented 
him  from  assuming  a  more  pretentious  name,  the 
Oriental  poets,  as  a  rule,  sharing  the  proverbial 
modesty  of  their  class,  thus,  Firdusi,  the  "Celestial," 
Haflz,the  "Preserver,"  Saadi,  the  "Felicitous." 

The  chroniclers  relate  that  Omar  was  fond  of 
spending  the  evening  on  the  terrace  before  his 
house,  in  company  with  his  friends,  surrounded  by 
musicians,  and  drinking  wine,  which  was  presented 


Introduction. 


in  turn  to  all  the  symposiasts  by  the  Sdki  or  cup- 
bearer, a  custom  which  still  prevails  in  the  East. 

He  seems  lo  have  passed  through  those  days  with 
the  indolence  and  indifference  of  a  god  ;  places  of 
honor  were  offered  him  by  the  government,  but  he 
prefen-ed  to  spend  his  time  in  a  vain  search  for 
some  rhjone  for  the  reason  of  things,  although  he 
well  knew  that  his  aim  was  unattainable. 

His  death  occurred  in  the  year  1123  of  the  Chris- 
tian era. 

*  * 

The  various  manuscripts  [the  texts  used  in  this 
translation  were  Whinfield's,  Nicolas',  and  the 
lithographed  edition  of  Lucknow]  contain  more  than 
a  thousand  quatrains  ascribed  to  Omar,  although 
in  this  number  there  is  constant  repetition  of  ideas 
expressed  in  slightly  varying  diction.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  tell  how  many  of  these  are  spurious,  for  it  is 
highly  probable  that  many  have  crept  into  later 
editions,  having  been  added  by  over-zealous  copy- 
ists unable  to  accept  Omar's  philosophy,  or  by 
readers  who  scribbled  antagonistic  strophes  on  the 
margins  of  their  copies,  which  afterwards  found 
their  way  into  the  text ;  this  supposition  is  sup- 
ported by  the  fact  that  in  the  larger  collections 
contradictory  stanzas  often  are  found  on  the  same 
page.  The  Rubdiydt,  a  poetic  form  in  great  favor 
in    the  East,  seems  peculiarly  suited  to    Omar's 


Introduction. 


thoughts.     In  the  original,  the  first,   second  and 

fourth  lines  rhyme,  though  all  four  verses  may  do 

so;  and  some  twenty-four  different  meters  are  in 

use.     The  only  respect  in  which  the  form  of  the 

translation  agrees  with  the  Persian  is  in  leaving 

the  third  line  blank. 

*  * 
* 

It  is  a  difficult  question  to  decide  what  was 
Omar's  real  philosophy.  He  probably  suffered 
periodic  attacks  of  metaphysics  with  accompanying 
chane-es  in  his  beliefs  ;  but  unfortunately  the  arbi- 
trary arrangement  of  the  original,  which  is  in 
accordance  with  the  alphabetical  order  of  rhymes, 
offers  no  clue  to  the  chronological  sequence  or 
development  of  his  ideas. 

It  is  well  nigh  impossible  for  an  Occidental  to 
accept  the  mystic  interpretation  of  M.  Nicolas,  and 
judging  by  his  notes  it  seems  as  if  he  too  had  grave 
misgivings  regarding  poor  Omar's  character.  How- 
ever, while  the  old  Tent-maker  doubtless  was 
human,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  was  past  redemption. 
He  drank  wine  as  he  sang  of  it,  and  it  is  probable 
that  his  morals  were  little,  if  any,  in  advance  of 
his  age  and  country,  but  his  vices  go  hand  in  hand 
with  great  virtues  ;  throughout  his  Rubdiydt 
there  breathes  a  spirit  of  charity  and  toleration 
towards  his  opponents,  and  an  independence  in 
thought,  unusual  in  his  time  and  in  an  Oriental 


Introduction. 


land.  A  skeptic  regarding  the  creeds  prevalent,  he 
tore  down  but  does  not  seem  to  have  supplanted 
with  anything  better.  He  recognized  the  weakness 
of  the  human  intellect  when  struggling  with  the 
questions  of  human  destiny,  at  the  same  time 
regarding  that  destiny  as  implacable,  a  belief  form- 
ulated throughout  his  writings  in  an  Eastern 
fatalism. 

Insomucli  as  there  is  a  vein  of  Pantheism  in  his 
poems  he  may  be  regarded  as  a  Sufi,  but  his  Siifism 
is  not  the  kind  which  the  professors  of  the  creed 
would  have  us  believe,  and  his  wine,  woman  and 
song  are  doubtless  no  less  real  than  were  the 
material  inspirations  of  Anacreon,  Horace  and 
Beranger. 

While  Omar's  fatalism  and  indifference  may  to 
many  seem  pernicious,  thrusting  themselves  for- 
ward in  such  a  manner  that  they  cannot  be  over- 
looked, the  effect  of  the  wliole  is,  as  Mr.  Fitzgerald 
says,  more  apt  to  move  sorrow  than  auger  towards 
the  old  Tent-maker. 

Omar  in  the  Twelfth  Century  belonged  to  the 
class  of  thiukers  which  includes  the  Agnostic  of 
to-day.  Recognizing  the  intenability  of  the  doc- 
trines taught  by  the  various  Mohammedan  sects, 
he  did  not  refrain  from  assailing  tbem  with  ridicule; 
he  seems  to  have  thought  with  a  modern  French 
writer,  that  the  value  of  a  religion  depends  upon 


Introduction. 


its  harmony,  more  or  less  complete,  with  the  pre- 
cepts taught  by  the  reason  and  with  the  facts  estab- 
lished by  science.  [Les  Religions  de  I'Extreme 
Orient,  L^on  de  Rosny,  1886.]  By  his  contempo- 
raries he  was  regarded  as  a  Freethinker  and  a  Scof- 
fer, and  it  was  not  until  long  after  his  death,  prob- 
ably when  the  examples  furnished  by  his  way  of 
living  had  ceased,  that  the  Siifls  discovered  the 
deep  spiritual  meaning  of  his  Bacchanalian  verses. 
That  they  did  make  this  discovery,  however,  need 
not  surprise  us,  for  the  Oriental  mind,  like  the  Ori- 
ental languages,  as  Mr.  Huxley  has  remarked,  is 
exceedingly  subtle,  and  the  Siifi  of  the  East,  as  an 
expounder  of  the  obscure,  is  no  less  adroit  than 
the  Theologian  of  the  "West. 

"Si  la  foi  vient  de  Dieu,  c'est  aussi  de  Lui  que 
vient  la  raison,"  was  doubtless  one  of  the  articles 
of  Omar's  creed,  whatever  his  religion  may  have 
been,  for  he  never  tired  of  attacking  the  unrea- 
sonable and  absurd.  He  felt  a  contempt  for  hol- 
low ceremonial,  and  he  scorned  hypocrftcy  and 
deceit.  Clemency  and  generosity,  not  vengeance 
and  wrath,  were  worthy  of  the  Divine;  infinite 
mercy  was  incompatible  with  the  Mohammedan 
doctrine  of  future  punishments,  while  infinite 
power  was  opposed  to  the  more  modern  theory 
of  free-will. 

The  shortness  and  uncertainty  of   life  and  the 


Introduction.  xi. 


instability  of  earthly  affairs,  were  ever  in  his 
thoughts.  His  appreciation  of  the  unavoidable 
separation  from  things  mundane,  and  the  fewness 
of  his  wants,  led  him  to  disregard  wealth  and 
honors.  Frequently  a  vein  of  pessimism  crops 
out  in  his  writings,  but  it  is  of  a  healthy  aggres- 
sive sort,  very  different  from  the  article  which 
the  pseudo-pessimists  of  the  day,  in  their  solemn 
seasons  of  reflection  upon  their  individual  ills, 
are  wont  to  style  truth  ;  Omar  was  a  precursor 
of  Schopenhauer,  rather  than  of  Leopardi. 

In  the  selections  which  follow,  accuracy  of 
translation  was  the  principal  aim  ;  the  collection 
might  have  been  made  much  larger,  but  it  was 
deemed  inadvisable,  as  Omar's  themes  are  not 
many,  and  the  ever-recurring  Wine,  Rose,  and 
Nightingale  are  somewhat  cloying  to  Occidental 
senses. 

The  great  questions  of  human  life  are  of  all 
times  and  of  all  ages,  and  although  Omar  never 
tired  of  struggling  with  them,  he  discovered  noth- 
ing new,  and  at  last,  feeling  that  Death  alone  was 
certain,  he  resigned  the  task  in  despair,  exclaiming 
to  his  pupil,  Niziimi,  '  I  shall  soon  be  buried 
where  the  North  wind  will  strew  roses  over  my 
grave,'  and  Niziirai  wondered  greatly  at  the  words, 
for  in  the  Koran  it  is  written  that  no  man  knoweth 
where  he  sliall  be  Imried  ;  but,  a  few  years  later. 


Introduction. 


returning  to  Naishdpur,  to  visit  the  last  resting 
place  of  his  Master,  he  found  it  close  beside  a 
garden-wall,  and  he  noticed  that  the  blossoms  had 
fallen  from  the  spreading  branches  and  completely 
hidden  the  tomb  from  view. 


ERRATA. 

Page  X,  line  22,  for  hypocracy  read  hyporrisy 

Page  3,  stanza  II,  veree  4,  for  ere  read  e'er. 

Page  8.  stanza  XVI,  verse  1,  for  ere  read  e'er. 

Page  it.  stanza  XXI.  verse  2.  after  boots  insert  if. 

Page  Vi.  stanza  XXXIII,  verse  4.  for  hurried  read  buried. 

Page  17.  stanza  I,  verse  2.  for  ere  read  e'er. 

Page  20.  stanza  X.  verse  2.  for  he  read  ue. 

Page  24.  stanza  VI,  verse  3.  for  sieze  read  seize. 

Page  58,  stanza  VI,  verse  3,  after  while  insert  angels. 

Page  74.  note  30,  for  calender  read  calendar. 


§\V0\fijC&* 


\A/itli  sparkling  wine  sweet  roses  join 

'Twill make  the  nectared  draught  divine; 
Let  Mirth  and  Laughter  rule  the  hour, 
While  roses  plucked  from  Love's  own  bower. 
Around  our  moistened  temples  twine, 
And  add  fresh  fragrance  to  the  wine. 

— Bo%irne's  Anacreon. 


TThe  Herald  of  the  Morn,  in  lusty  tone, 

Loud  greets  the  Dawn  upon  her  Golden  Throne, 
Again  proclaiming  to  a  Slumbering  World, 
Another  Night  beyond  recall  has  flown. 


Arise  oh  Sdki,i  the  Sunlight  in  is  creeping, 

The  Drowsy  soon  will  fall  to  Death's  sure  Reaping, 

Come  tune  thy  Harp,  and  fill  a  Sparkling  Measure, — 

Not  One  will-ere- return  of  all  the  Sleeping.  -^^-SL^i 


The  Flowers  upon  the  breeze  their  fragrance  fling, 
The  Bulbul's  notes  within  the  thicket  ring, 
Ah  come  recline  beneath  the  Rose-tree's  shade, — 
The  Rose  that  once  has  blown  must  die  with  Spring. 


Strophes  of  Omar  KJiayydm. 


IV. 

Come  take  thy  Lute  and  seek  the  Verdant  Plain, 
With  Countless  Houris  fair  a  Laughing  Train, 
For  oft  has  Heaven  brought  them  into  Life, 
And  turned  them  back  to  Lifeless  Cups  again. 


V. 

The  Violets  that  by  this  River  grow. 
Spring  from  some  Lip  here  buried  long  ago  ; — 
And  tread  thou  lightly  on  this  Tender  Green, 
Who  sleepethhere  so  still,  thou  ne'er  wilt  know. 


Our  Souls  we  gladly  sacrifice  to  Wine, 
The  Smiling,  Laughing  Daughter  of  the  Vine,' 
Yes,  Ssiki,  stand  thou  ready  with  the  Flask, 
And  to  my  Lip  the  Flowing  Cup  incline. 


Strophes  of  Dinar  Khayyam. 


Mid  Joyful  Dancers  and  with  Wine  and  Song, 
Upon  this  Mossy  Bank  the  whole  Day  long; 
I  ask  for  nothing  more, — to  think  of  Hell, 
Or  e'en  of  Heaven,  would  be,  methinks,  a  Wrong. 


A  Flask  of  Wine,  a  Loaf  of  Bread, 
To  every  Care  and  Worldly  Sorrow  dead, 
I  covet  not,  when  thou,  oh  Love,  art  near, 
The  Jeweled  Crown  upon  the  Sultan's  Head. 


12. 

Yon  fallen  Palace  once  with  Heaven  vying. 
Where  Kings  bowed  down,  is  now  in  ruin  lying, 
The  Ring-dove  haunts  its  desolated  courts. 
And  wails  coo-coo,  coo-coo,^  forever  crying. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


Now,  here  where  Bahrdm*  lived  ia  wild  carouse, 
The  Lion  sleeps,  the  Deer  are  wont  to  brouse, 
Though  oft  he  followed  them  with  bow  and  Spear, 
They  never  will  his  FinaUSlumbers  rouse. 


XI. 

When  I  am  dead,  my  body  wash  with  Wine, 
Sing  o'er  my  tomb  the  praises  of  the  Vine, 
And  when  the  Day  of  Resurrection  dawns, 
Commingled  with  the  Tavern's  dust,  seek  Mine. 


XII. 

'T  is  said  there  is  a  place  where  Houris  throng, 
Where  we  shall  drink  and  list  to  Lute  and  Song, 
If  Paradise  such  Pleasures  offers  us, — 
To  love  the  like  on  Earth, — in  what  the  Wrong?* 


StropJies  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


xni. 
In  Adoration  at  the  Wine-jar's  Lip 
We  learn  a  lesson  in  Good-fellowship, 
The  moments  we  have  lost  in  Fruitless  Prayer, 
We  best  can  find  again  when  Wine  we  sip. 


XIV. 

Snow  white,  like  Moses'  hand,"  the  Branches  grow, 
While  Clouds  rain  Tears  upon  the  Earth  below. 
The  opening  buds  revived  by  Jesus'  breath, 
Upon  the  air  their  Subtile  Fragrance  throw. 


XV. 

Come  fill  the  cup,  and  quaff  this  kind  Nepenthe, 
The  Sweetest  Gift  of  all  the  Gods  have  sent  thee. 
For  vainly  wilt  thou  seek  to  find  again 
The  Fleeting  Moments  which  the  Fates  have  lent 
thee. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayydm. 


Such  Homage  to  the  Cup  I  ere  will  pay  A^Jl^C 

That  when  my  Body  in  the  Ground  they  lay, 

The  Odor  of  my  Wine  will  overcome 

All  those  who  happen  by  my  Tomb  to  stray. 


This  Tufted  Mead  is  sprinkled  by  the  Rain 
With  all  its  Flowers  which  our  Senses  chain, — 
Ere  long  the  Flowers  from  our  Dust  will  spring,- 
Whose  sight  will  they  rejoice?    A  Question  vain. 


xvm. 

Why  heed  the  Future's  distant  Weal  or  Woe? 
Enjoy  the  Hour,  the  Morn  we  ne'er  may  know; 
To-morrow, — we  may  join  that  Caravan 
Which  started  Seven  Thousand  Years  ago.^ 


Stropfies  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


XIX. 

With  Tales  of  future  pains  men  threaten  me, 
They  say  there  is  a  Hell  in  store  for  thee ; — 
Love,  if  there  is  a  Hell  for  all  like  us. 
Their  Heaven  as  empty  as  my  Palm  will  be. 


Yes,  Loved  One,  when  the  Laughing  Spring  is 

blowing 
With  Thee  beside  me  and  the  Cup  o'erflowing, 
I  pass  the  day  upon  this  Waving  Meadow, 
And  dream  the  while,  no  thought  on  Heaven 

bestowing. 


Our  Life  will  end,  it  flies  on  foot  amain, 
What  boots  whether  ])assed  in  joy  or  pain 
At  Balkh  or  Naishiipdr?  *    Come,  till  your  cup. 
We  die, — but  still  the  Moon  will  wax  and  wane. 


10  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


XXII. 

Love!  oh  that  God  would  build  his  World  anew 
While  Aught  of  Life  remains  to  Me  and  You, 
And  that  He  would  our  Names  obliterate, 
Or  show  more  Mercy, — be  more  Generous  too. 


Ah,  with  what  Skill  Thy  Maker's  Hand  designed 

Thee, 
And  with  what  Grace  and  Lovliness  combined 

Thee; 
But  oft  I  wonder  why  he  made  thee  so, 
And  then  in  this  poor  Earthen  Home  confined 

Thee.9 

XXIV. 

A  few  short  Fleeting  Days, — our  Life  fliies  fast, 
'Tis  gone,  it  flies  as  flies  the  Desert-blast, 
But  yet  there  are  two  days  of  neither  Joy 
Nor  Pain,  the  Day  to  come,  the  Day  now  past. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam.  11 


XXV. 

Ob,  might  the  Vintage  Time  forever  last  ! 
The  month  of  Ramaziin^"  not  yet  has  passed, — 
But  while  a  Jar  of  Wine  remains  to  us — 
What  thinkest  Thou  that  Ave  shall  keep  the  Fast? 


XXVI. 

To  Wisdom's  Daughter  I  was  one  time  wed, 
Thereafter  Fruitless  Dogma  shared  my  bed, 
Her  too  I  have  divorced  now  from  my  roof. 
And  ta'en  the  Daughter  of  the  Vine  instead. 


Come,  fill  a  sparkling  Cup  and  from  the'  Creed 
Of  One  and  All  the  Seventy  Sects  be  freed," 
And  to  the  Riddle  of  Futurity, 
The  Answer  in  the  Flowing  Goblet  read. 


12  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


XXVIII. 

The  Morn  M^lien  from  my  Eve's  Carouse  I  die 
I  will  not  sue  for  Mercy  from  the  Sky, 
Yes,  Love,  for  Thee  and  Wine  I  still  shall  yearn, 
Though  Sinner,  Heaven  and  Hell  I  will  defy. 


XXiX. 

Soon  from  the  Book  of  Life  our  Names  shall  fade, 
And  in  the  Arms  of  Death  we  shall  be  laid, 
A  little  while  and  we  shall  turn  to  Dust, — 
Come  boy!  my  glass  fill  up;  be  not  dismayed. 


XXX. 

The  fears  of  Death  from  your  Illusions  rise. 
For  Death  is  but  the  Door  to  Paradise, 
The  Breath  of  Jesus  hath  revived  my  Soul,- 
The  Tales  of  Everlasting  Death,  are  Lies.^^ 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam.  13 


XXXI. 

The  Koran's  Word,  oft  called  the  'world  sublime,' 
Is  seldom  read,  and  not  in  every  Clime, 
But  on  the  Goblet's  Rim  there  is  a  Verse, 
Men  read  at  every  place,  at  every  time.^^ 

XXXII. 

Come  bring  the  Juice  whose  dazzling  Brightness 

vies 
With  these  same  Houris'  merry  sparkling  eyes. 
And  which,  like  a  Chain  with  Links  of  Iron,  holds 
Within  its  strong  embrace,  both  Fools  and  Wise. 


Yes,  bid  the  Sdki  fill  the  Brimming  Measure, 
And  may  thy  closing  days  be  spent  in  Pleasure, 
For,  when  thy  Dust  within  the  Ground  is  laid, 
'T  will  ne'er  be    sought  as  some  long  burHed 
Treasure. 


14  Btrophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 

XXXIV. 

One  Morn  while  sitting  by  the  Taverns'  Door 
I  heard  a  Voice  in  Accents  Mild  Implore, 
"  Come,  fill  another  Cup  with  Sparkling  Wine, 
Make  Haste,  the  Cup  of  Life  will  soon  run  o'er. 

XXXV. 

In  Praise   of   Wine  and   Rose  my  Words  shall 

ring, 
For  these  alone  Forgetfulness  bring, 
When  dead,  the  bricks  that  from  my  Clay  are 

baked. 
May  serve  to  build  the  Palace  of  a  King. 

XXXVI. 

Yes,  Friend,  within   the  Tavern  thou  shouldst 

dwell, 
Forever  lost  in  Wine,  for  who  can  tell 
The  Anguish  that  our  Sober  Moments  fills. 
But  when  enslaved  by  Wine, — ah  well,  ah  well! 


1   a  vie  est  ainsi  f aite,  il  nous  la  faut  subir. 

Le  faible  souffre  et  pleure,  et  1'  insense  s'irrite; 
Mais  le  plus  sage  en  rit,  sachant  qu  '11  doit  mourir. 
Rentre  au  tombeau  muet  ou  1'  homme  enfln  s'abrite, 
Et  la  sans  nul  souci  de  la  terra  et  du  ciel, 
Repose,  o  malheureux,  pour  le  temps  eternel! 

— Leconte  de  Lisle. 


I  asl  Night  I  broke  my  Cup  against  a  stone, 

An  Act  of  Madness  I  must  ere  bemoan; — 
Ah,  knowest  thou  not,  that  I  was  once  a  Man? 
The  Fragments  asked  of  me  in  plaintive  tone. 


The  Cup  I  jirize  above  the  Realms  of  Tils 
The  Crown  of  Kobdd  or  the  Throne  of  Kaiiis;'* 
A  Lover's  Matin  Sighs  are  sweeter  far 
Than  all  the  Dervish's  Sobs  and  Groans  profuse. 


Thou  hast  prepared  a  Way  with  many  a  Snare, 
And  set  with  many  a  Prize  to  lure  us  there, 
And  still,  Oh,  God  'tis  said,  Thou  wilt  not  spare. 
The  Man  whose  Foot-steps  stumble  unaware! 


18  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


Why  let  Thy  Sins  of  old  torment  Thee  so? 
What  gain  to  Thee  from  all  this  Crushing  Woe? 
The  Man  who  God's  Commandment  ne'er  trans- 
gressed, 
Can  ne'er  Cod's  All-Forgiving  Kindness  know. 


Oh,  Thou  who  in  the  Universe  Entire 

The  Object  art  of  all  my  fond  Desire, 

Far  dearer  art  Thou  than  my  Quickened  Soul, 

More  precious  Thou  than  Life's  Consuming  Fire. 


Ah,  Spirit  Mine,  your  Life  is  filled  with  Sorrow, 
A  Respite  from  your  Toil  you  ne'er  can  borrow, 
I  know  not  why  you  animate  this  Clay, 
Since  You  must  leave  forever  on  the  Morrow. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam.  19 


VII. 

Of  Those  who  have  the  "Loug  Road"  travelled 

o'er, 
Not  One  will  bring  Thee  News  of  it,  before 
Thou  too  Shalt  go,  and  heed  Thee  that  Thou  leavest 
Without  Regret,  Thou  shall  return  no  inore. 

vin. 
Oh  that  to  Heaven's  Control  I  might  aspire, 
And  sweep  away  this  Universe  Entire, 
Then  from  the  Ruins  build  Another  World, 
Where  Man  might  sometimes   reach  his  Heart's 
Desire ! 


No,  From  the  Future,  Hope  thou  ne'er  sliouldsl 

borrow, 
The  very  Thought  would  fill  thy  Heart  with  Sorrow, 
Lose  not  the  Present  jMoment  in  Repining, 
For  't  is  not  known  that  we  shall  see  the  Morrow. 


20  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


Ye-i,  when  we  die  the  World  will  be  the  same, — 
Chaotic  Darkness  reigned  not  ere  b«.came, — 
Our  Coming  and  our  Going  matters  not, 
And  we  shall  leave  behind  nor  Trace,  nor  Name. 


With  Swift  Destruction  are  Fate's  Arrows  fraught. 
Nor  can  this  Worldly  Wealth  avail  Thee  aught. 
The  more  I  ponder  on  this  World  I  see 
The  Good  is  Good,  and  all  the  rest  is  Naught. 


XII. 

Arise,  and  for  my  Heart's  Relief  I  pray 
That  you  v/ill  tear  the  Veil  of  Fate  away. 
Quick  bring  a  Cup,  and  let  us  drink  the  Wine, 
Ere  Fate  shall  make  a  Goblet  of  Our  Clav. 


/'^ieco  error,  tempo  avaro,  ria  fortuaa, 
Sorda  invidia.  vil  rabbia,  iniquo  zelo, 
Crudo  cor,  empio  ingegno,  strano  ardire 

Non  bastaranno  a  f  anni  1'  aria  bruna, 
Non  mi  porrann'  avanli  gli  occhi  il  velo, 
Non  faran  mai,  cb'  il  mio  bel  sol  non  mire. 

—  Giardaru)  Bruno. 


I. 
T  am  as  from  Thy  Crucible  I  came, 

A  Base  Alloy,  and  though  I  feel  my  shame, 
I  cannot  hope  to  mend  my  erring  ways, — 
'Tis  Thine,  oh  Allah,  and  not  mine,  the  Blame. 


Oh,  Thou  the  Maker  art  of  Wrong  and  Right, 
Whatever  is,  hath  sprung  from  Thine  own  Might, 
Since  I  am  but  a  Humble  Slave  of  Thine, 
My  Sins  in  Wrath,  Thou  never  wilt  requite. 


III. 
This  '  wheel  of  heaven '  in  its  Fatal  Play 
WUl  soon  our  Breath  of  Being  steal  away, — 
Come  rest  thee  on  this  bank,  for  from  our  dust 
Will  spring  the  Verdure  at  no  distant  day. 


24  SiropJies  of  Omar  Khayydm. 


IV. 

From  Birtli  we  all  are  destined  for  the  Tomb,— 
The  Rose  has  but  a  little  time  to  Bloom, — 
But  what  is  Life,  this  Soul-confusing  Draught, 
That  man  will  drink  until  the  Crack  of  Doom  ? 


V. 

Why  strive  to  know  the  Hidden  Cause  of  All  ? 
Enjoy  the  Sweet,  and  bravely  take  the  Gall, 
For  on  this  Checkered  Board  of  Life  we  Men 
Are  moved  by  Fate,  the  Skies  our  Souls  enthrall. 


VI. 

With  Nature's  Secrets  be  thou  not  perplexed. 
Enjoy  this  World  and  do  not  fear  the  Next, 
Ah,  sieze  this  little  Breath  of  Life  as  Cash, 
With  That  to  come.  Let  not  thy  Heart  be  vexed. 


C  s  f urchte  die  G5tter 

Das  Menscbengeschlecbt, 

Sie  halten  die  Herrschaft 

In  Ewigen  Handen, 

Und  konnen  sie  brauchen, 

Wie's  ibnen  geMlt. 

—  Goethe. 


I. 

Crom  all  Eternity  't  was  known  to  one 

The  Sovereign  Wine  Cup  I  would  never  shun, 
And  if  I  failed  to  drink  this  Purple  Juice, — 
God's  boasted  Prescience  would  be  undone. 


II. 

We  all  are  Puppets  of  the  Sky,  we  run 
As  wills  the  Player  till  the  Game  is  done. 
And  when  the  Player  wearies  of  the  Sport, 
He  throws  us  into  Darkness  One  by  One. 


III. 

Whatever  is,  by  Fate  was  erst  designed, 
The  Maker  now  his  Labor  has  resigned, 
And  all  our  Striving  can  avail  us  Naught, 
For  all  our  Acts  were  long  ago  defined. 


28  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


IV. 

Yes,  since  wliate'er  the  Pen  of  Fate  has  traced 
For  Tears  of  Man  will  never  be  erased, 
Support  thy  Ills,  do  not  bemoan  thy  Lot, 
Let  all  of  Fate's  Decrees  be  bravely  faced. 

V. 

'T  was  Allah  who  engraved  upon  my  Clay 
The  Laws  I  was  thereafter  to  obey, 
And  will  He  cast  me  into  Raging  Fire 
Because  my  Actions  answer  to  His  Sway? 


I  es  plus  desesperes  sont  les  chants  les  plus  beaux, 
Et  j'  en  sais  d'   immorlels  qui  sont  de  purs 
sanglots. 

— Alfred  de  Musset. 


A    Day  or  two,  our  sorrows  will  be  o'er, 

A  little  while  and  then  a  Parting  sore. 
But  come  and  taste  the  Dawn's  Sweet  breath, - 
How  oft  will  Dawn  respire,  and  We  no  more! 


What  Eye  can  see  behind  the  Veil  of  Fate? 
What  Man  can  Nature's  Secrets  penetrate? — 
Although  our  Life  is  but  a  Moment's  Halt, — 
Oh,  that  we  mi^ht  its  End  accelerate. 


III. 
Life's  Caravan  unheeded  steals  away. 
And  with  it  passes  all  our  Pleasure,  nay, 
Fear  not  the  Pain  the  Future  has  in  Store, — 
But  drink,  upon  us  steals  the  Twilight  gray. 


32  StropTies  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


Ah,  since  the  World,  oh,  Love,  doth  grieve  thee  so, 
Aud  since  Thy  Soul,  forever  soon  must  go, 
Thy  Fleeting  Days  among  the  Roses  spend, 
Ere  long  the  Roses  from  Thy  Dust  will  grow. 


The  Moonlight  tears  the  Robe  of  Night  in  twain. 
Such  Moments  wilt  Thou  henceforth  seek  in  vain,- 
When  we  are  gone  the  Moon  will  still  be  bright, 
So  fill  Thy  Cup,  and  all  its  Sweetness  drain. 


VI. 

Our  Life  slips  from  our  Grasp,  we  soon  shall  swell. 
The  Ranks  of  Those  who  in  Death's  Kingdom 

dwell,— 
Aud  of  Them  All  not  one  has  e'er  returned, 
The  Secrets  of  that  Peaceful  Realm  to  tell. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam.  33 


VII. 

In  Earth's  Dark  Bosom,  Myriads  of  the  Best 
That  She  has  known,  disheartened  in  their  Quest 
For  Truth,  are  sleeping,  while  the  Waste  of  Naught 
Is  thronged  with  Those  to  come,  and  Those  at  rest. 


Ah,  since  the  Future's  Riddles  none  can  guess. 
Come  fill  the  Cup,  the  Cup  that  drowns  Distress, 
Ah,  Love,  yon  Moon  will  often  rise  again. 
Will  rise  and  miss  us  in  Her  loneliness. 


Before  us  twain  were  many  Nights  and  Days, 
The   Stars  have    long   pursued  their  Heavenly 

ways, — 
But  tread  with  Lightest  Foot  upon  this  Dust, 
T  was  once  an  Eye  that  beamed  with    Loving 
Rays. 


34  Strophes  of  Omar  KhayyAm. 


X. 

Oh  that  my  Face  the  Brightness  of  this  Wine 
Might  borrow,  and  when  dead,  this  Claj'^of  mine, 
I  pray  Thee  wash  it  with  the  Grape,  then  make 
My  Cofl3n  of  the  tendrils  of  the  vine. 


Oh  that  the  Soul  might  leave  its  Earthen  Home 
And  wing  its  Flight  through  Heaven's  Mighty 

Dome, 
What  Shame,  what  Shame,  to  feel  itself  confined 
Within  a  tenement  of  Basest  Loam. 


Night's  Robe  is  torn,  and  Dawn  will  soon  appear. 
So  fill  Thy  Cup  and  quaff  the  Vintage  clear. 
How  oft  will  rosy  Dawn  unveil  her  Face, 
When  Thou  and  I  shall  be  no  longer  Here? 


a.  .  ■7vi-*-irrm...,a 


pais  cet  acte  de  foi  dans  1'  Eternel  Genie 

De  vouloir    aujourd'hui    ce    qu    'il    veut 
aujourd'hui, 
Et  laisse-toi  porter  par  la  Force  Infinie. 

— Paul  Bourget. 


'IX/hen  I  shall  bow  luc  at  the  Feet  of  Death 
And  bird-like  uU  my  Plumai^c  scatteruth, 

Make  naught  but  Wine  Jars  from  my  Clay,  per- 
chance 

The  Wine's  sweet  Odor  may  restore  my  Breath. 


Yes,  when  my  Soul  is  sunk  in  Lasting  Gloom, 
My  Body  will  be  placed  witiiin  the  Tomb, 
Thereafter  man  will  take  mj'  Clay,  some  Bricks 
To  mould,  to  place  upon  the  Grave — of  Whom? 


III. 
With  Aristotle  wise  you  naay  contend, 
And  Ca;sar's  Power  may  e'en  transcend, — 
But  still  drink  Wine  from  Jiimshcd's  Cup,'* 
Though  Bahn'im's  self,  the  Tomb  would  l)c  your 
End. 


38  StropheK  of  Omar  KJiayydm. 


IV. 

If  Friends  of  mine  you  are,  come  cease  your  brawl. 
Then  fill  your  Cups,  and  when  in  Death  I  fall, 
I  pray  you  take  my  Clay  and  mould  a  Brick, 
To  stop  a  hole  within  the  Tavern's  Wall." 


V. 

How  long,  oh,  Sdki,  shall  we  ponder  o'er 
These  Fruitless  Arguments  of  Five  and  Four;" 
Come,  Siiki,  tune  Thy  Harp,  we  all  are  Dust, 
A  Breath  of  Wind,— Come,  fill  one  Goblet  more. 


Mid  Wine  and  Minstrel's  Songs  I  love  to  dwell. 
My  Clothes,  my  Heart,  my  Soul  for  Wine  I  sell. 
All  Earthly  Cares  and  Griefs  I  toss  aside, 
Together  with  all  Thoughts  of  Heaven  and  Hell. 


strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam.  39 


VII. 

Ah,  when  Thou  earnest  Here  what  brough test  Thou? 
At  Death  thou  wilt  tlie  Earth  with  All  endow. 
For  Pears  of  Death  Thou  hast  abjured  the  Cup, — 
But  drink  or  not,  thy  Death  is  sure,  I  trow. 


VIII. 

And  of  Them  All  endowed  with  Wit  and  Learning, 
And  styled  by  Men  '  bright  Torch  of  Wisdom  burn- 
ing,' 
Not  One  has  passed  a  Step  beyond  the  Darkness, 
They  mused  a  while,  then  left,  to  Sleep  returning. 


When  first  I  saw  this  World  of  Joy  and  Pain, 
Assailed  by  Doubts  that  ever  will  remain, 
I  wondered  what  it  meant  to  live,  to  die, — 
The  Question  oft  I  pondered,  but  in  vain. 


40  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


X. 

Fair  Heaven's  Teut  was  long  since  raised,  't  was 

Then 
That  Nature's  Ways  were  hid  from  Human  Ken, 
Life's  Cup  the  Everlasting  Siiki  filled 
With  Millions  of  these  Bubbles,  called  Men. 


Oh,  Friend,  to  Fear  why  should  Thy  Thoughts  be 

lent? 
To  Earthly  Sorrows  be  indifferent, 
For  when  Thy  Cloak  of  Being  shall  be  rent, 
'T  will  matter  not  howe'er  Thy  Life  was  spent. 

xn. 
Yes,  Friend,  since  Joy  and  Youth  my  Life  adorn. 
This  purple  Wine  I  drink  from  Night  till  Morn, 
Ah,  do  not  curse  this  pain  annulling  Juice, — 
Y^ou  know  'tis  all  that  cheers  our  Life  forlorn. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam.  41 


XIII. 

Beneath  the  Skies  each  Mortal  undergoes 
A  thousand  Griefs,  a  thousand  Heartfelt  Woes, 
But  still  Love  reigns  between  the  Cup  and  Flask, 
And  Lip  to  Lip  pure  Blood  between  them  flows. 


XIV. 

Since  Venus  and  the  Moon  have  cheered  the  Sky, 
Naught  have  Men  seen  with  Purple  Wine  to  vie; 
What  half  as  precious  as  this  sparkling  Juice, 
Can  these  same  thoughtless  Vintners  for  it  buy?>8 


XV. 

Yes,  Sdki,  Time  will  soon  us  both  o'erthrow. 
From  this  World's  Fragile  Tent  we  then  must  go. 
But  when  a  Cup  of  Wine  is  in  my  hand, 
I  bid  farewell  to  all  my  heartfelt  Woe. 


42  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


XVI. 

Why  should  Thy  Heart  with  Fears  of    God  be 

fraught? 
When  He  designed  this  World,  to  Thee  no  Thought 
He  gave,  Thy  hopes  of  Heaven  are  not  worth 
A  Moment's  Happiness  at  random  Caught. 


XVII. 

In  Praise  of  Wine  and  Cup  ray  Moments  glide; — 
Ah,  Faithful   Devotee,  You  boast  vrith  pride, 
That  Wisdom  is  your  only  Master  here, — 
But  know  you,  that  myself  was  Wisdom's  Guide.  " 


XVIII. 

Come,  fill  the  morning  Cup,  the  Sun  is  high, 
Come  tune  Thy  Hai*p,  asleep  Thou  shouldst  not  lie. 
The  swift  and  sure  return  of  Tyr  and  Dai-" 
Has  crushed  a  thousand  Kings  like  Jdm  and  Kai. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam.  43 


XIX. 

Yes,  when  within  the  Ground  my  Dust  is  laid, 
And  Name  and  Memory  to  a  Story  fade, 
Ah,  Brother  mine,  I  humbly  beg  of  Thee, 
That  Drinking  Vessels  from  My  Clay  be  made. 


XX. 

Away  with  all  that  grieves  the  soul,  for  soon 
We  leave  this  World  where  Wine  the  richest  Boon 
Of  Mortals  is,  a  single  Draught  outvies 
Whatever  lies,  betwixt  the  Fish  and  Moon. 21 


XXI. 

Yes  drink ; — how  many  Lives  their  Way  will  wind?— 

The  Soul  will  vainly  try  its  Clay  to  find 

When  Judgment  calls,   for  this  same  Skull,  the 

Seat 
Of  Joy  and  Pain,  the  Potter's  Heel  will  grind. 


44  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


XXII. 

While  on  this  little  Earth  you  humbly  crawl, 
Drink  Wine,  the  Past  you  never  can  recall, 
Since  Ruin  soon  will  overspread  its  Face, 
In  Wine,  be  you  too,  ruined  once  for  all. 

XXIII. 

Whene'er  a  Cup  of  crimson  Wine  I  hold. 
My  Soul  seems  chained  within  the  Cup  of  Gold, 
And  for  a  Time  from  earthly  Shackles  freed. 
All  Nature's  Secrets  to  my  Mind  unfold. 


"AH  ephemeral,    dead  long  ago;  some  have  not 
been  remembered  even  for  a  short  time,  and 
others  have  become  the  heroes  of  fables,  and  others 
again  have  disappeared  even  from  fables." 

— M.  Antoninus. 


A   Bird  upon  the  crumbling  walls  of  Tiis, 

Addressed  the  grinning  Skull  of  Kai-Kaius;- 
"  The  Rumbling  of  Thy  Drums  affright  no  Ears, 
Thy  Trumpets  now  are  tarnished  from  Disuse." 

11. 
This  World  is  nothing  but  an  Inn  decayed, 
A  transient  Resting  Place  of  Light  and  Shade, 
A  Banquet  which  a  thousand  J:lrasheds--  left,  a 

tomb, 
Wherein  a  thousand  Bahr^m  Gours  are  laid. 


I  chanced  a  Potter  at  his  Work  to  meet, 
While  Heads  and  Handles  for  his  Vessels  neat, 
Upon  his  swiftly  turning  wheel  he  shaped; — 
From  Mouldering  Pates  of  Kings  and  Beggar's 
Feet. 


48  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


IV. 

The  Potter  heeds  no  silent^Tongue's  appeal, 
His  Hands  no  Tender  Mercy  ever  feel, 
Though  'tis  Perfdun's-'  Heart, — Kai  Kosru's  Head, 
That  whirls  in  Anguish  on  his  rapid  Wheel. 


V. 

A  sighing  bit  of  Breathing  Claj',  this  Vase, 
Once  humbly  bowed  before  a  Woman's  Face, 
This  earthen  Handle  fixed  about  its  Neck, 
Did  oft  in  Love  a  Cypress  Form  embrace. 


VI. 

My  Manuscript  of  Youth  has  dusty  grown, 
The  Roses  of  My  Spring  will  soon  be  blown, 
The  joyful  Bird  of  Youth  that  hovered  near,— 
I  know  not  Whence  it  came,  nor  Whither  flown. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam.  49 


VII. 

The  Potter  deftly  shapes  Lis  turning  Clay, 
And  knead  and  mould  it  with  what  Skill  he  may; 
He  little  thinks  it  once  of  Human  kind, — 
The  Earth  he  mangles  in  his  Humor  gay. 


VIII. 

Ah  Mignon,  Mignon,  fill  the  Crystal  Glass, 
Though  Houris  fair  in  Heaven  cannot  surpass 
Thy  Lovliness, — but  one  short  day  or  two, — 
And  Thou  wilt  be  no  more  than  Dust,  fair  lass! 


IX. 

I  saw  a  Potter  at  his  Work  today. 
With  rudest  Hand  he  shaped  his  yielding  Clay, 
"  Oh  gently  Brother,  do  not  treat  me  thus, 
I  too,  was  once  a  Man,"  I  heard  it  say. 


'or  he  that  wavereth  is  like  a  wave  of  the  sea 
driven  with  the  wiud  and  tossed. 

— James  I.,  6. 


I. 

■VX/ithin  the  Labyrinth  of  Human  Creeds, 

Of  Truth  and  Wisdom  I  have  sought  the  Seeds, 
By  fairest  Flowers  hired  to  venture  on, 
I  ne'er  have  gathered  Aught  but  worthless  Weeds. 


II. 
The  Ways  of  God  are  veiled  from  Human  Ken, 
Yes,  Night  and  Day,  'tis  three  score  years  and  ten. 
That  I  have  pondered  o'er  them, — but  in  vain, — 
My  Thoughts  have  ne'er  been  cleared  by  Tongue 
or  Pen. 


The  Mosque,  the  Kaaba, — 'tis  a  Prison  Cell, — 
A  Chain,  the  Chimes  that  from  the  Steeple  swell. 
The  Rosary,  the  Mehrab,-*  and  the  Church, 
Are  like  the  Cross,  all  Signs  of  Slavery  fell. 


52  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


IV. 

Oh  Thou  hast  made  us  Slaves  to  Passion's  Sway, 
Although  our  Master  we  must  ne'er  obey; — 
But  tell  me  this,  how  can  we  tip  the  Jar, 
And  still  not  let  its  Contents  run  away? 


V. 

When  lost  in  Darkness  Stars  and  Skies  shall  be, 
My  Soul,  released,  will  wing  its  flight  to  Thee, 
And  it  will  ask,  Oh  God  of  Righteousness, 
Why  takest  Thou  the  Life  Thou  Gavest  me? 


VI. 

For  Three  Score  Years  within  the  School  of  Life, 
I  heard  the  Wrangling  and  the  Endless  Strife 
About  this  World  and  That  to  Come,— and 

learned, — 
That  all  their  Schemes  with  Errors  Base  were  rife! 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayijdm.  53 


Ah  Brother,  but  a  little  while,  and  Thou  shalt  tiud 
Thy  Lasting  Home  the  '  Secret  Veil'  behind; — 
Rejoice  Thy  Heart  and  banish  Grief,  for  know;— 
Thy  Source,  Thy  Goal,  has  never  been  defined. 


What  man  believes  that  He  who  made  the  Vase 
Will  sometime  shatter  it  in  Anger  base? 
The  Maker  of  these  weak  misguided  Men, 
Will  surely  not  in  Wrath  His  Works  efface. 


Oh  Khdjah-''  Grant  a  single  Wish  I  pray. 
Point  out  the  Road  that  leads  to  God, — but  nay,- 
My  Steps  have  found  the  Narrow  Path  aright, 
And  Thou  it  is,  who  wandcreth  from  the  way. 


54  StrojyJies  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


From  Faith  to  Disbelief  is  but  a  Breath, 
From  Doubt  to  Faith,  but  one,  the  Dervish  saith, 
Come  gaily  let  us  pass  our  fleeting  Days, — 
A  Little  While  then  cometh  the  Angel  Death. 


This  azure  vaulted  Heaven,  a  Despot  sore, 
Of  all  the  Problems  that  we  ponder  o'er, 
Not  One  has  solved;  whene'er  it  finds  a  Heart 
In  Grief  'tis  sure  to  add  one  Sorrow  more. 


XII. 

This  Universe  is  but  a  Mantle  worn. 

The  Jehun^^  from  our  flooding  Tears  is  born. 

And  Hell  a  fire  ignited  by  our  Griefs, 

And  Heaven  a  respite  from  our  Life  forlorn. 


I  e  Deiste  contemple  un  pur  je  ne  sais  quoi, 
Lointain,  par  qui  le  monde,  en  s'ordonnant, 
commence; 
Et  le  savant,  qui  rit  de  leur  sainte  demence, 
Nomme  son  Dieu  Nature  et  n'en  fait  qu'une  loi. 


A  insi  roulent  toujours,  du  neant  aux  idoles, 

Du  blaspheme  aux  credo,  les  multitudes  foUes, 
Dieu  n' est  pas  rien,  mais  Dieu  n'est  personne;  ilest 

Tout. 

— Sully  Prudhomme. 


'T'his  Spirit  which  the  Universe  contains, 

Shines  in  the  Rose,  then  in  the  Lion  reigns, 
Although  the  Outward  Forms  may  pass  away. 
The  Spirit  still  remains,  yes  still  remains. 


II. 
At  times  Thou  art  concealed,  and  then  auon 
Thy  subtle  Essence  casteth  Thou  upon 
All  Things  Existent  twixt  the  Earth  and  Moon; 
•Thou  art  the  Player  and  the  Lookcr-ou. 


lU. 

What  may  this  Moving  Panorama  be? 
Ah  would  that  I  could  tell  it  all  to  Thee; 
'Tis  Something  tossed  up  by  the  boundless  Vast, 
That  will  return  to  that  same  Unknown  Sea. 


58  Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


A  Turning  Magic  Lantern  Shown  this  World, 
Around  the  Sun  as  Candle  swiftly  whirled, 
While  Mortals  are  but  Phantom  Figures  traced 
Upon  the  Shade,  forever  Onward  hurled. 


Oh  would  there  were  a  Place  unknown  to  care, 
And  that  our  Weary  Road  might  take  us  there  ;- 
So  after  many  Years,  we  might  burst  forth 
Again,  as  bud  in  Spring  the  Roses  fair. 


This  Universe  is  but  a  Body  old 
Which  doth  the  Right,^'  as  Deathless  Spirit  hold, 
i^j         While, Elements  and  Skies  and  Men, 

Are  Parts  of  One,  Whose  Laws  the  Whole  enfold. 


'T'he  soul's  dark  cottage,  battered  and  decayed. 
Lets  in  new  light  through  chinks  that  time  has 
made. 

— Edmund  Waller. 


I. 

Tu  vainly  seeking  Thee  no  Rest  we  tiiid, 

But  in  and  out  the  Labyrinth  we  wind 

Though  every  Tree  and  Rock  proclaimeth  Thy 

Name 
And  Work,  our  Ears  are  Deaf,  our  Eyes  are  blind. 


II. 
Oh  Allah,  1,'rant  my  Captive  Heart  Thy  Rest, 
Be  merciful  unto  my  grief-torn  Breast, 
Forgive  these  Feet  which  lead  me  to  the  Inn, 
Forgive  this  Hand  which  takes  the  Vine's 
Bequest.=- 

iir. 
Unlock  the  Door,  Oh  Allah,  Thine  is  the  Key, 
Thy  Hand  reach  forth  and  deign  to  succor  me. 
To  Human  Aid  I  will  not  trust  myself. 
For  All  will  perish,  saving  only  Thee. 

10 


62  Strophes  of  Onuir  Khayyam. 


I  am,  just  as  Thy  Hand  my  nature  cast, 
Mid  countless  Benefits  my  Life  has  passed. 
And  now  I  fain  would  know  if  Sins  of  mine. 
Can  overthrow  Thy  IMercy  at  the  Last. 


The  Two  and  Seventy  Wrangling  Sects  contend. 
And  ever  strive  their  Crimibling  Creeds  to  mend, 
But  I  have  cast  them.  One  and  All  away, 
And  Thou,  Oh  Allah,  art  my  only  End. 


Allah  no  Profit  from  my  Homage  hath, 
And  though  I  oft  have  strayed  from  Virtue's  Path, 
'T  will  matter  not,  He  will  forgive  I  know, 
For  He  is  quick  to  Pardon,  slow  to  Wrath. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayyam.  G3 


Till  When  these  thouglits  of  what  is  Thine  or 

Mine  V 
Shall  I  my  Life  to  Joy  or  Grief  resign? 
'T  will  not  be  known  until  my  Spirit  Hies, 
Whether  the  Life  I  live,  is  Mine  or  Thine. 


vin. 
Lives  there  a  Man  who  breaketh  no  Decree? — 
And  if  I  err  'tis  writ  Thou  chasteneth  Me, — 
What,  if  I  sin  and  in  return  Tbou  strlkest, — 
AVhat  is  the  dilTerence  between  Me  and  Thee? 


At  times  to  some  frail  earthen  Vase  we  turn, 
Again  we  seize  the  Book  some  Truth  to  Learn; 
Our  Lives  are  neither  wholly  Good  nor  Bad, 
Oh  thinkest  Thou  that  we  fore'er  shall  burn? 


64  8lro])7ie.s  of  Omar  Khayyam. 


Adina''^  is  reserved  for  Fast,— but  staj', 
Why  should' St  Thou  put  the  Cup  and  Flask  away? 
I  know  the  Grape  is  then  forbidden,  but — 
Worship  Omnipotence,  and  not  the  Day. 


Ah  do  not  think  the  Skies  our  Souls  enthrall, 
The  Griefs,  the  Joys  that  to  us  Mortals  fall, 
Come  not  from  Thence,  nor  are  they  known  to 

Fate, 
Heaven  is  far  more  helpless  than  us  all. 


XII. 

Oh  thou  who  pratest  of  Hell's  Eternal  Fire 
And  threatens  the  Man  who  sins  with  Anger  dire. 
How  canst  tiiou  pardon  Omar's  faults,  to  God's 
Prerogative  how  darest  thou  aspire? 


Wen,  muerte,  tan  escondida, 

Que  no  te  sienta  venir, 
Porque  el  placer  del  morir 
No  me  buelva  ;'i  dar  la  vida. 

— Escriva. 


"r^ovuG  Death,  but  gently  come  and  still;— 
All  sound  of  thine  approach  restrain, 
Lest  joy  of  thee  my  heart  should  fill 
And  turn  it  back  to  life  again." 


\^iUiin  the  Maze  of  Human  Faith  and  Doubt 
I  erst  while  loved  to  wander  round  about. 
But  No  One  have  I  met  the  Way  to  clear, 
And  through  the  Entrance  Door  I  passed  Without. 


Forget  the  Day  Old  Time  has  ta'en  from  thee, 
From  Thoughts  of  the  Morrow  thou  e'er  shouldst 

flee. 
Build  not  on  That  to  Come,  on  That  Long  Passed, 
Lose  not  thy  Life,  though  bright  it  may  not  be. 


III. 
How  Long  will  Reason's  Chains  oppress  my  Soul? 
What  boots  it  whether  One  Day  or  Hundreds  roll 
Above  my  Head,  come  fill  the  Cup,  My  Clay 
The  Potter  soon  will  shape  into  a  Bowl. 


68  Strophes  of  Omar  Kliayydm. 


IV. 

Last  Night  into  a  Potter's  Shop  I  strayed. 
Where  Jars  and  Pots  a  many  were  displayed. 
And  All  cried  out:  where  is  the  Potter  now, 
And  those  who  bought  and  sold,  where  are  they 
laid? 


I  dreamed  a  Sage  exclaimed  to  me,  "  Oh  Son 
In  Sleep,  '  the  Rose  of  Fortune  '  blooms  for  none, 
Why  sleep,  when  Sleep  is  but  a  Twin  to  Death? — 
Ah  Thou  shalt  sleep  enough  when  Life  is  done." 


Oh  grind  My  dust  when  dead  with  Might  and 

Main, 
And  thus  my  Loss  will  be  my  Fellow's  Gain, 
Then  take  my  Dust  and  knead  with  Wine  a  Jar, 
That  sometime  shall  that  self-same  Wine  contain. 


Strophes  of  Omar  Khayydm.  69 


What  Profit  from  our  Coiniug  and  our  Going? 
And  from  tlie  Seed  of  Hope  tluit  wo  are  sowing? — 
Ah,  Where  are  Those  wlio  lived   and  passed 

away? 
Their  whereabouts  transcends  all  Human  Knowing. 

VIII. 

Khayytira,  your  body  is  a  Tent,  your  Soul, 
A  Sultan,  destined  to  an  Unknown  Goal; 
The  Dread  Ferrdsli^"  of  Doom  destroys  the  Tent, 
The  Moment  when  the  Sultan's  Summons  toll. 

IX. 

Khayydm,  who  stitched  the  Tents  of  Wisdom's 

Lore, 
Is  fallen  in  tiie  Pit  and  covered  o'er; 
Death's  Shears  have  cut  the  Tent-ropes  of  his 

Life, 

The  World  lias  cast  him  out  as  worthless  Store.*' 

11 


$l0te0* 


NOTES. 

1.  Sdki,  the  Persian  word  for  Cup-Bearer. 

2.  Daughter  of  the  Vine,  a  favorite  simile  with  the  Per- 
sian poets. 

3.  The  force  of  this  last  line  is  lost  in  English,  kit  being 
an  abbreviation  for  the  Persian  word  kiija.  where. 

4.  See  Note  22. 

5.  A  satire  on  the  Mohammedan  Paradise.  Koran,  LVI. 
"Tonths  which  shall  continue  in  their  bloom  forever,  shall  go 
round  about  to  atteiul  them  with  goblets  and  beakers  and  a 
cup  of  Uowingwine;  their  heads  shall  not  ache  by  drinking 
the  same,  neither  shall  their  reason  be  disturbed,  and  with 
fruits  of  the  sorts  which  they  shall  choose,  and  the  fiesh  of 
the  birds  which  Ihcy  shall  desire,  and  there  shall  accompany 
them  fair  damsels  having  large  black  eyes,  resembling  pearls 
hidden  in  their  shells,  as  a  reward  for  that  which  they  shall 
have  wrought." 

6.  Koran,  Chapter  XX.,  T.  H. ;  Exodus,  IV.,  6;  the 
branches  becoming  white  with  buds  in  spring,  are  compared 
with  Moses'  band,  '  Leprous  as  snow.' 

7.  According  to  the  Persian  cosmogony  the  world,  at  that 
time,  was  seven  thousand  years  old. 

8.  Balkh  and  Naishapur,  the  latter  Omar's  birthplace,  are 
two  towns  in  Khorassan. 

9.  The  meaning  of  this  quatrain  is  not  obvious;  some 
have  believed  it  to  be  addressed  by  the  poet  to  his  own  soul, 
while  others  have  given  it  a  more  material  signification.  It 
recalls  Adrian's  'Animula!  vagula,  blandula.' 

10.  Kamaz&n,  the  ninth  Arabic  month,  is  devoted  to  fast- 
ing. 


74  Notes. 

11.  Humanity,  according  to  the  Persians,  is  divided  into 
seventy-two  sects. 

12.  The  Mohammedans,  in  general,  admit  the  miracles  of 
Jesus  Christ,  attributing  to  him  the  power  of  resuscitating 
the  dead  with  his  breath.  They,  however,  place  him  below 
Mohammed.  The  Siifls  place  him  on  an  equality  with  God, 
regarding  him  as  a  Sufi  who  had  attained  the  degree  of  the 
'  Supteme  Beatitude,'  and,  consequently,  having  the  power 
of  performing  all  miracles. 

13.  Copper  drinking  vessels,  with  verses  in  praise  of  wine 
engraved  on  the  rim,  are  frequently  met  with  in  Persia. 

14.  Trts,  an  uncle  of  Kai-Kaifis,  the  latter  the  second  king 
of  the  Kaianian  Dynasty,  was  successor  to  Kobad,  its  founder. 
Tils  is  also  the  name  of  a  town  in  Persia. 

15.  The  Cup  of  Jdm  occupies  a  place  in  Persian  poetry 
similar  to  that  of  the  Holy  Grail  in  medireval  romances. 

16.  This  stanza  is  not  altogether  dissimilar  to  Shake- 
speare's:— 

Imperial  Ciesar  dead  and  turned  to  clay, 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away ; 
O  that  that  earth,  which  kept  the  world  in  awe, 
Should  patch  a  wall  t'  expel  the  winter's  flaw. 

17.  The  Four  Elements  and  the  Five  Senses. 

18.  Kisii,  one  of  the  earlier  Persian  poets,  has  a  some- 
what similar  quatrain,  which  may  be  translated  :— 

The  rose  is  a  gift  from  Eden's  bower, 
Our  minds  in  the  garden  grow  nobler  far; 
Why  does  the  rose  dealer  sell  his  flower? 
What  is  more  precious  than  roses  are? 

19.  Eeferring  to  his  scientific  accomplishments. 

20.  Tyr  and  Dai,  April  and  December,  two  months  of  the 
Solar  year,  according  to  the  calendar  used  by  the  Iranians 
before  Islam.  1 


Notes.  75 

21.  From  Mah  to  Mahi,  from  fish  to  moou,  i.  e.,  between 
the  fish  which  siupports  the  bull,  that,  according  to  Persian 
cosmogony,  bears  the  earth  on  one  of  his  horns,  and  the 
moon;  the  saying,  which  is  equivalent  to  the  expression 
'everything  in  the  universe'  is  common  with  the  Iranians. 

22.  Jamshed  was  the  fifth  king  of  the  mythical  Peshdadian 
dynasty.  His  real  name  was  Jam,  which  means  'liing' ;  Shed 
was  added  on  account  of  the  beauty  of  his  person  and  of  his 
brilliant  deeds.  He  is  said  to  have  been  the  founder  of 
Pcrscpolis,  and  the  invention  of  wine  is,  by  some  Persian 
historians,  attributed  to  him.  Bahram  Gour  was  a  member 
of  the  Sassanian  dynasty;  the  name  Gour,  which  means  '  wild 
ass,'  was  given  him  on  account  of  his  foundness  for  hunting 
that  animal,  a  passion  which  cost  him  his  life.  The  word 
Gour.  which  also  means  'tomb,'  gives  the  original  a  force 
which  is  lost  in  English. 

23.  Feridun  was  the  second  king  of  the  second,  or  Peshda- 
dian dynasty.  By  the  Persians  he  was  regarded  as  a  hero  and 
a  model  to  be  copied  by  all  potentates.  Almost  all  the 
Iranian  poets  have  sung  his  valor,  liberality  and  justice. 
Kai-Kosru  was  the  second  king  of  the  Kaianian  dynasty. 

2>i.  M ehrab,  a  Mohammedan  chair  placed  in  Mosques,  and 
always  turned  towards  the  East. 

25.  Khajah,  an  orthodox  Mussulman. 

26.  The  Jchun,  the  C)xus. 

2('.  Hakk,  the  Arabic  word  for  '  truth,  justice,  right,'  is 
one  of  the  '  ninety  and  nine  names  of  Allah,'  Al-Hakk  the 
truth. 

28.  According  to  M.  Nicolas,  a  satire  apropos  of  the  Day  of 
Judgment.  The  poet,  by  this  prayer  in  favor  of  his  different 
members,  calls  to  mind  that  God  has  nothing  to  accord,  and 
nothing  for  which  to  pardon  matter,  which  has  become  inert 


76  Notes. 

after  its  separation  from  the  soul,  which  has  again  entered, 
the  Siifis  say,  into  the  Divine  Essence. 

29.  Adiua  is  the  Mohammedan  Friday. 

30.  Fcrrash,  a  Persian  body-servant,  who  aceompanieB  his 
master  on  journeys,  setting  up  his  tent,  etc.,  etc. 

31.  A  quaint  quatrain,  referring  to  his  poetical  name  of 
the  'tent-maker.' 


